


Doubt

by scattergun



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 12:55:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1941945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scattergun/pseuds/scattergun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave talks with Bro.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doubt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pandir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandir/gifts).



> A little ficlet written for Pandir's b-day which I'm now posting here 'w'

”I… I’m not sure we should do what we were doing.”

Dave’s words seem loud to you: maybe because you were waiting for them. You and he are sitting on each your side of the futon, him: nervously tapping out skate moves on his controller, you: working your way through a textbook on set theory. He’s been quietly shooting you sidelong glances from his side of the futon for the past few minutes. Not half as subtle as he wishes he was, that kid.

You let your lips twitch downwards with displeasure. “Mm? Something get in your head about it?”

"Yeah… Something like that," he ventures.

"Taboos are meaningless,"  you respond, not even looking at him. You let him shift uncomfortably as you pretend to be engrossed by your textbook. How far does he want to go with this? How can you keep control of the situation?

"I know that. I just was all up and thinking that…" A pause. "That maybe we shouldn’t do it again? Just, who knows what could happen right?"  
You look up from your textbook, frowning slightly. You fish your bookmark out of the later pages, place it correctly with movements that are neither slow nor rushed, then set the book down on the table. Give him a little time to see that you’re taking this seriously. Give him a little time to see you go out of your way for him.

"Nobody has to know. We’re both smarter than that." You’re looking at him now; he’s sitting still, tense, not meeting your eyes. A knot in your chest loosens. You can salvage this.

"Yeah… Well… It’s that- Bro, I really don’t-" his voice is cracking and you hasten to interrupt.

"I wouldn’t let someone hurt you," you say decisively, moving closer, grabbing his hands.

(You loom over him at this distance. His hands are small in yours.)

He’s looking at you now- you can see his eyes wide behind his identical pair of shades. You brush your right thumb over his knuckles. Softly, softly. Tenderness to offset fright.

You don’t do touchy-feely stuff but what you’re saying is true and above all useful so it comes easy. It’s not so wrong: since you’re not the affectionate type, you didn’t  _withhold_  anything in order to do this. It just happens that it makes an incredible sort of leverage.

"Bro-"

His voice is shaky now, edged with desperation to be understood. The satisfaction of victory rings through your chest along with genuine compassion. He doesn’t have it in him.

 You gather him onto your lap and he doesn’t resist (it’s not like you’d withhold physical contact, it’s just…). You love him. You feel him shaking and you feel like you would be shaking too if your heart sang any louder. His hurt echoes through you; your insides are alight with compassion. You rub your hands across his back: partly to soothe, partly because he is there and small and you are holding him and god do you love him.

"Hush."

You press a kiss to the side of his throat, feeling his pulse flutter as he cries into your shirt.


End file.
